Arrival in Israel

After a couple of years of waiting, wishing, and winking at old men in scholarship interviews, I have finally found myself in the Promised Land once again. In a few short weeks, my classes at Jerusalem’s Hebrew University will begin. In the meanwhile, however, I have an extensive to-do list which includes securing a room in an Arabic-speaking home, arranging the details of my research project, and learning to travel with Jon David Conolley, my dear friend and temporary travel companion. As this is his first and perhaps only trip to Israel, I’ve decided to show him all the beauty and intrigue of this unique country that I can fit into ten short days. That is, if I don’t kill him first.

Upon our arrival in Tel Aviv, one thing was immediately clear—he’s willing to spend extra money at any given moment whereas I am as penurious as a seventy-five year old widow living on food stamps. Uncle Sam has been good to me, but not quite as good as Regions Bank has been to JD. Thus I write this entry from the rooftop of a hostel in Jerusalem’s Old City, wearing a pea coat and scarf while wrapped in three blankets that don’t compensate for the lack of a heating system. My alarm is set for 8:30 am so that I’ll be able to catch the last 30 minutes of the daily 7-9am hot water flow.

As bad as this place is, it is ten times better than the rat hole where we rested our heads on our first night in Israel. Tel Aviv’s Gordon Inn had community showers with no hot water flow at all, beds covered with sheets that hadn’t seen a washer in days, and a bathroom that only Kate Moss could fit in. The only perk was the free breakfast at a beach side restaurant ran by hippies, but even that cost us a 5 mile walk. By the time we arrived, the lunch crowd was pouring in.

Nevertheless, we have mostly good memories from Tel Aviv. The place itself is beautiful, ensuring that our day long leisurely stroll through the city passed quickly. It’s a small area, and we canvassed most of it in about 12 hours. Stops were rare, except in a few cases where we stumbled upon a unique niche in the landscape. I imposed a two-meal-a-day rule (to save time and money), but the locals begged some quality people-watching time. We spend a solid hour on the boardwalk, snapping inconspicuous photos of grandmas whose chests had been struck by gravity, families walking hand in hand, teenagers smacking gum while wearing their shirts too high and pants too low, and businessmen and other hurried pedestrians oblivious to the world around them.

Highlights: Yitzak Rabin’s memorial, on the spot where he was assassinated in 1995; Old Jaffa—a beautiful neighborhood on a hill overlooking the beach; Our waiter at the Restaurant Espresso…after an entire afternoon and evening, he was the first person we met who was actually warm and friendly.